


Meanwhile, Back in Metropolis

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Community: sentinel_thurs, M/M, New Year's day fic, Sentinel Thursday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-22
Updated: 2011-02-22
Packaged: 2020-03-10 03:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: Jim and Blair start the New Year together.Togethertogether.





	Meanwhile, Back in Metropolis

**Author's Note:**

> written for Sentinel Thursday challenge 368, "New Year"

"Will you cut that out?"

The fidgeting beside Jim stopped and everything was peaceful again, except for a drawn-out, martyred sigh from Blair. Jim felt himself drifting back towards sleep, lulled by the soothing patter of raindrops hitting the skylight and the muted background sound of his own private audio feed from the television downstairs in 207, where Mrs. Newell was starting off the new year in traditional fashion with her TV set tuned to the streets of Pasadena. 

_"Every visible part of that float is made with flowers or plant materials, folks. Even the blade of the saw. That's a very realistic-looking chainsaw, Lisa, isn't it?"_

_"It certainly is, Bob. I wish every one of you in our viewing audience could be here to see this in person this morning. It really is a stunning float."_

'Stunning'. A chainsaw made out of flowers. _Get a grip, Lisa,_ Jim thought, rolling his eyes without bothering to open them first. Why he was listening in on the parade today he had no idea. New Year's Day meant watching the bowl games while you were stretched out on the couch with a six-pack and a meat-lover's pizza, not eavesdropping on annoyingly perky announcers nearly wetting themselves in their fake enthusiasm over floats and bands. But this morning the perkiness wasn't as irritating as it should've been. It felt almost…homey, listening to Bob and Lisa. Like he was a kid again, sitting in front of the TV with Sally and Steven, getting to eat waffles on the sofa while Sally exclaimed about the floats and Stevie dribbled syrup onto the sofa cushions.

_"Next up, we have a… Oh, my. That's one big beaver, Bob."_

_"I think it's safe to say that's the biggest beaver I've ever seen, Lisa. This is the first year the Greater Pacific Friends of Our Forests organization has participated in the parade, and they certainly went all out with their entry. Look at the size of that dam."_

The sheet lying across Jim's chest twitched. For a moment Jim thought Blair was about to make a comment about the beaver — the float designers and the announcers had certainly left themselves wide open there — but then he remembered that he could only hear the TV himself because he had his hearing turned up. So the twitching sheet wasn't Blair's prelude to a sophomoric joke, it was just more fidgeting. 

The sheet moved again. Jim opened his eyes and turned his head to frown at Blair.

Blair wasn't looking at him. He was staring up at the rain-streaked skylight. "I can't," he said. He sounded tense. "Jim, I just can't. This is too big, man. It's not working."

His expression was almost desperate. Jim closed his eyes again briefly, then pinned Blair with a glare. "It was working just fine last night. And an hour ago." 

"Not _that_." Blair was frowning now, too. "This." He gestured at Jim and the bed and himself, which didn't do a hell of a lot to clarify things as far as Jim was concerned. 

Or maybe it did, and Jim just didn't want it to.

Blair flung the sheet off himself and got up in one explosive movement to stand beside the bed, wild-eyed and looking like he was about to bolt for Timbuktu stark naked and with the remnants of a streak of come flaking off from his stomach. _Missed that,_ Jim thought distractedly.

What else had he missed? Reluctance, on Blair's part? Hesitation? More New Year's eve partying than either one of them could handle?

No. He refused to believe that. Neither of them had been drunk last night. Hell, they hadn't even had any champagne in the loft. All they'd done was clink their beer bottles — his third, Blair's second — together at midnight, and two minutes later Blair had started wrestling him for the remote. 

With intent, Jim had thought, up until thirty seconds ago. 

"You're saying this was a mistake." Jim kept his voice flat. He'd been played a few times in his life, but he would've sworn Blair hadn't been playing him. Of course, he'd been wrong before. He also had more than one morning-after regret notched into his own belt, and if that was what was going on here —

"What?" Blair had turned to head towards the stairs but at Jim's words he spun around and came back to the bed to stand next to Jim, his hands moving agitatedly. "I'm saying what? You think I'm saying — wait a minute, _you're_ not saying that, are you? You don't think this was a mistake, right? Jim, this wasn't a mistake. This was totally not a mistake. A mistake would be me forgetting to stop and buy coffee yesterday, or the date you had last month with that blonde you met at the gym who turned out to be wanted for extradition by the RCMP, not to mention married to a guy who collects Uzis and has a jealous streak a mile wide, or when we —"

Jim didn't try to interrupt the flood of words with more words, he just reached up to get a good grip on one of Blair's gesturing arms and yanked him down onto the bed. Yanked Blair down on top of himself, to be more accurate, and apparently he hadn't ever tried that move before with anyone of Blair's musculature who packed quite as active a set of elbows. "Watch it," he complained, wincing, as Blair muttered "Ow" and rolled off Jim's chest to end up lying on the mattress beside Jim, back where all this had started.

Where, goddammit, he was fidgeting again.

Jim dredged up a small amount of patience from somewhere. "Look, I didn't say this was a mistake. You're the one who said it wasn't working, Chief. Not me."

"Oh. That?" Blair let out a deep breath. He looked almost abashed. "That wasn't what I meant. It was just, you know, us lying here — and I get that you're into this whole, lazy, hang out and sleep in New Year's morning thing, but it's just too — I mean, I can't… I can't just lie here and go back to sleep, Jim. This is too big. You and me, I mean. I have to…I don't know, _do_ something, okay? Go out and leap tall buildings in a single bound, or… or — Stop laughing at me, you jerk."

Jim did. It wasn't because Blair had asked him to, though, or because of the backhanded thump Blair gave him on the forearm. Blair's face was flushed and there was so much frustrated energy coming off his body Jim could feel it like the heat from a fire; could almost hear it, like the hungry crackle of flames. 

Energy that was because of him. Because of _them_. 

Energy, if he was reading it right, that wasn't just about sex. 

_Son of a bitch,_ Jim thought, and smiled to himself, feeling a warmth moving through his body that wasn't just about sex, either. 'Go out and leap tall buildings in a single bound'? Jim didn't think sleeping with him had ever made Carolyn feel that way. Marrying him certainly hadn't. Hadn't made her feel like Lois Lane, either, that was for damn sure.

Downstairs, and in Pasadena, the Sagamore Community College Marching Band and Baton-Twirling Corps had started on a trombone-heavy rendition of "Everybody's Everything." _Baton-twirlers and Santana._ Jim sighed. Still, Santana was always magic. And Blair, lying there beside Jim and just about spontaneously combusting without Jim even touching him — Blair was…

The warmth moving through Jim flared. What Blair was, was asking for it, whether he knew it yet or not. After all, playing leapfrog with a skyscraper or two wasn't the only way to get rid of excess energy. Not even close to being the only way.

Jim rolled into a push-up over Blair's chest, easing his body down until he could feel Blair's curly mat of chest hair begin to brush against his ribcage. "Just don't bring out any Spandex, Superboy," he said, feeling himself grin as his face hovered over Blair's, "or it's all over."

"Super _boy_?" Blair protested, then waggled his eyebrows and grinned back. "Hey, what if I _like_ Spandex?"

"I don't want to know that about you," Jim said, starting to nuzzle his way down Blair's jaw. Underneath him, Blair was fidgeting again. Or squirming. "You've got so much energy to burn, Superboy, why don't you get up and make breakfast," he murmured against Blair's throat before he began to lick his way towards Blair's collarbone.

"Breakfast, now?" Blair said indignantly. "You're doing —" He stopped abruptly, drawing in a hasty breath as Jim sucked gently — _for now,_ Jim thought, promising himself much more, later — on a patch of skin he'd just finished licking. 

After a moment he moved on, and Blair cleared his throat and started over. "You're doing _that_ , and you seriously think I'm going to get up right now and —" His voice cut off with a groan as Jim eased more of his weight down and rocked his hips forward. 

Jim brought his mouth up next to Blair's ear. "Bacon," he whispered, following the word with a puff of air. "OJ. Blueberry pancakes. And if you really did forget to buy coffee yesterday, you can damn well put on your tights and cape and go out and —"

"Bite me." Blair still sounded indignant, if breathless, and Jim rocked his hips forward again. Blair moaned. "Lunch," he mumbled, "I'll make us lunch. Sometime." He let out a strangled sound as Jim's tongue darted into his ear. "Later. Oh, man, yeah. That works. That really…really… _Yes_ …"

 _Yeah,_ Jim agreed silently, _this works._ Forget the pancakes, the waffles and syrup, Lisa and Bob drooling over ten-foot-tall Smurfs made out of chrysanthemums; _this_ was the way to start the new year.

With anticipation.


End file.
